Lucid Fantasies
by superguy
Summary: Ephram is once again plagued with dreams about Amy Abbott. Dreams that seem a little too real. When trying to hide his "reaction," he digs himself deeper in a hole.


EVERWOOD:

a fanfiction

superguy

Author's Note: _I am writing this one for my sister, even though my fanfiction writing seems as distant to her as the moon to Earth. When the television show _Everwood_ first aired way back, I pre-judged it as another pointless drama that would capture the hearts of girls across America. It wasn't until this past Christmas when my sister got the First Season DVD set that I started watching the show, and I am surprised to say that this series has had a profound impact on me. Not only could I relate to the character Ephram, the stories that the show promoted were very full of heart and family, something I think is rarely captured on screen for television today. So, I decided to write a fanfiction. If I write a fanfiction based on something, I generally admire it a lot, so that said… If my sister reads this, I will count that a miracle in itself. This one's for her. Enough talking. Enjoy._

Lucid Fantasies

Damn it. I though my day was going to be bearable, but you know - someone in the cosmos must hate me because I haven't had a decent day since I can't even remember when. You know I would have thought that I - Ephram Brown - could go a day without worrying about stuff and just be a normal teenager. But hey, that hasn't happened since Mom died.

I wake up this morning from a dream that I can't believe I had last night. I was at school reading my comic in the Library. They have those comfy chairs all over the place so that you can read comfortably, I guess. Nothing compared to the Library in New York. Well, I found one that was relatively secluded. There were these guys being real jack asses to me earlier and I didn't want a second helping. So, I sat amidst the quiet bookshelves. The intrigue that is manga pulled me in.

But I wasn't alone. Someone was watching me. You know the feeling? Eyes. Didn't take long to see whose they were.

I met Amy Abbott yesterday - ironically during the mock-fest of my hair color. I would have punched them - I swear. So, Amy steps out from behind the shelf in back of my chair. I had to crane my neck to see.

Yeah, it was Amy. She was gorgeous - blonde hair framing her smooth face. Don't worry, I don't usually get so wordy. But there's no other way to describe Amy. She was just beautiful. And exactly what I had to see at that moment.

She came up behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders. When I looked up, she was staring down at me. Her hair brushed against my face and I caught the scent of it. It was that mouth-watering rose scent. Like a bouquet of roses. My eyes slid shut as she started kneading away at my shoulders, getting rid of all my stress. I could almost literally feel myself exhaling it.

My breathing became deeper as she spoke. That breathy whisper reminiscent of the voice of my mother when she knew something was wrong with me.

"Why're you tucked away over here all by yourself?"

Her eyes flickered down to meet mine. Oh man. I could feel it now. The charm was working on me. The pressure was moving from one spot and collecting in another. I moved my book to my lap.

"I'm reading…"

Well…I _was_ reading until she came over and started pressing my buttons. Her fingers seemed to sink into my muscles, moving up my neck. I leaned my head back as all the tension in my neck floated away. Amy smiled. I smiled back.

Why was she doing this for me? As much as I enjoyed it, there had to be a catch or something. I glanced up at Amy - the light from the overhead window floating around her.

"This was…unexpected," I muttered, don't know why. Her hands moved to the base of my neck, sliding beneath my shirt collar.

Holy cow - the pressure was building now. I couldn't hide it. The book was too small. It seemed…

My hands fumbled and the book fell from my lap to the floor. Amy moved down with her hands, deeper into my shirt. I felt my chest tighten at her touch. Her hands were warm.

Then, she moved in for a kiss. The soft pink of her lips took me for a ride. I'm no amateur at kissing, but that was an experience I'd never had. Her hands held my face as she kissed me. Lips parted and I could taste the evergreen of her breath before her tongue met mine. So soft.

The tension built even more until the peak. That was when I completely lost control. My body took over and I just gave in.

Next came the buzzing. What the heck was that? School police?

My eyes opened and I was in my room. The vision of Amy and the Library faded to the walls of my sanctuary and the feelings melted to wetness beneath my sheets.

Not again. And, damn it, here we are again. This isn't my first time doing this. It's happened before. Not too much, but I thought I was over it. This was the first time in what, a year?

But, why am I complaining? Shouldn't the pleasure be enjoyable? Yeah, it is, but it comes with the price of being all over the inside of my sheets that Dad just washed. So, not so good for me. And if Delia comes into my room and finds the bed wet all Hell will break loose. If Dad finds out he'll make a big thing about it. As far as he's concerned, I never hit puberty and I'm still non-sexually compatible. There's the joke of the century, to be muttered in a fancy _Doctor of the Year_ banquet.

So, I get out of bed carefully. I don't want anyone to notice I'm up yet. Dad's probably still asleep. Movement makes me feel the colt wetness even more and I push the door closed, turning the lock just to be safe. Another thing I don't need is to be walked in on when I'm changing. It's a secret, but I'm majorly self-conscious. Now that you know, don't let it leak, okay? Don't need others to know. I've carefully hidden myself behind the tough-Ephram visage, so don't spoil it.

I remove the soiled boxers quickly, slipping them off without touching them too much. Not really sure if this stuff stains, but don't want to find out by getting it on my hands and onto my clothes. Okay - they're off. And it's cold. I feel it now. Man - the sheets were a lot warmer.

Now what do I do with them? Not to mention the sheets as well. They're more noticeable if I'm walking down the hall with them. Okay, I lay the blanket on the floor and put the boxers inside that. Wrap it up in a ball. Okay. Man, Amy didn't know she was so powerful.

There. I get new clothes on and check the clock. 5:10. Maybe the house is still asleep. I hurry out of the room with my sheets in hand, hoping I'm not spotted. But today's my lucky day. Who steps out of his bedroom just as I'm passing?

"Ephram - what're you doing?"

Dad. Oh man, what a bad omen. How does he show up when I need him the least? Even Delia would have been easier to explain this to!

I continue down the stairs as fast as I can. Who needs a talk with Dad in the hallway? Not me. But, I have to throw him off.

"I'm doing laundry." That's the truth. Rule one - don't lie. Just bend the reality of the situation when needed.

But Dad doesn't stop. He follows me.

"Those are your sheets. I just washed them the other day!"

"Well - they're dirty."

Dad doesn't accept. He's one of those fish that won't bite unless it's real bate.

"How are they dirty? You spill something on them?"

He continues to follow me down to the laundry room. I thought I'd shake him in the kitchen, his stove being really alluring, but he still follows. I get that awful feeling deep in my stomach, like I know he's going to find out.

"They just are. You know - dirt gets on them and you have to wash them?"

Dad chuckles. That was a really lame attempt, I know. Don't rub it in.

The washroom. The tiniest room in the house. It's in the cellar, and we have a washer and a drier on one wall, the baskets for dirty clothing piled high on the side. We may only be three people in this house, but there's a heck of a lot of laundry that needs to be done during the week. I think Delia wears the most outfits of us all. She thinks it's awesome to wear three outfits a day. She like has one for each mood. If she's sad, something blue. Cliché, I know. But anyway.

I pass the shelves with food things stacked on them - non-perishables, you know. Flour and whatnot. Canned things. The cold keeps them fresher than up in the humidity of the kitchen constantly in use by Dad.

Setting down the sheets on top of the washer, I turn to look for the detergent. It's not in it's usual spot. Delia must have been down here, moving things around. I look at the shelf with the food as Dad pries more.

"What'd you get on them? Something secret. Huh?"

I quickly grab the bag of flour and shove my hand into it, grasping a handful of the soft stuff and yanking it out. As quickly as I can, I sprinkle the amount of powder on the sheets. Dad watches in disbelief.

"There. They're dirty." I say smartly as I spot the detergent, wiping my hands off on my pants. They're faded jeans, so no worries on the flower.

"Fine, I won't pry any more. You can wash whatever you want. I'm actually kind of glad you're getting into the habit. Maybe you can do the laundry every once in a while -"

"Don't push it. Can you just go cook breakfast or something?"

"Like what? Whadda you want?"

He smirks at the effect his questions have on me. His stupid, ugly beard. Mom would never have approved. But I guess he feels justified because now we live in the middle of hicksville and the town is overrun with farmers and planters.

"Dad - just go!"

I shove him up the stairs as he laughs.

"Sure, I'll make you pancakes." he says as he leaves me for the kitchen. Good. I'm alone now.

Unscrewing the almost impossible cap from the bottle of Downy, I begin pouring it into the washer. Hope I'm not using too much. Mom showed me how to do this once, don't really remember what. I think she said use one cup full. Or was that for the fabric softener?

You know what, screw it. I'll just do the one-cup thing. It better work. I need those sheets to sleep in tonight. I'm not - I repeat _not_ going to sleep on the couch!

There. Everything's set. Now I can go and escape to my room before school. Dad's going to hound me again if I sit in the kitchen, so I have to lay low. Maybe I can get up there and out while he's preoccupied by something. Maybe he'll spill something and I can get out.

But, as I get to the top of the stairs, he's waiting with a plate in his hand, setting the table. That annoying smile, like he's making everything better. Sorry, he's not.

"How many do you want?" he asks as he walks back over to the stove.

I continue through the kitchen.

"Sorry. Don't eat breakfast."

But he catches me by the arm and pulls me back.

"Oh - come on. I'm not letting you go to school without eating. Did you know that if you don't eat, your immune system shuts down for a few hours? That's why you usually get the chills -"

"Dad, seriously. Save the lectures for your friends, not me."

"Just sit down."

"No, I'm -"

"Ephram - you are going to sit down!"

He forces me to sit at the table. There's nothing to do but sit there and watch him make pancakes. Hooray. The most fun I've ever had. Not.

"So, how many pancakes you want?" Dad persists. I have to answer.

"Two."

"You sure you don't want more?"

"Two's fine, Dad."

Dad nods and flips one of them onto the plate and starts cooking the other. He's quiet for a moment before he tries desperately to strike up a conversation.

"So, I hear you met a new friend yesterday."

"New friend?"

What the Hell is he talking about?

"The Abbott girl, what was her name…Amy?"

How the Hell did he find out about that? I thought my life was completely out of his range! He shouldn't be able to get this sort of information, or else something bad will happen. Like the time I was in fifth grade, I was actually considered one of the cool people. Yeah, that was like the peak in my career for school. I've been going down hill since then. But, yeah. I met this girl I really liked and she took me into her group. But, Dad found out about it and tried to get involved by meeting the girl's parents with Mom and everything. He told the parents at a dinner that he was sure that if said girl and me went out, it would be fine. The girl heard and that was the end of our relationship.

I really don't want that to happen between Amy and me. You know that feeling like you've met this girl before, in another life or something? That's what it was with me and Amy. I felt like I knew her already, yet I don't. I just want to be around her. She's in my science class - Physics, puke. So, I'll see her then at least. Took a while to get her to tell me about herself between the jerk-offs and the hallway.

Finally, the pancakes are ready. Dad plops them on the table and I'm shocked to see that they're a beautiful gold. Just the way I liked them when Mom used to make them.

"Jeese, you actually made these? Can't believe it. They're…edible."

"Glad you think so."

I take my fork and cut into one of them and cringe. I guess I spoke too soon. The tops look yellow, but the bottoms are a dark brown, almost black. Crusty, you know? I have to scrape that off before I can eat them.

Delia tromps down the stairs and into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

"Morning, sweetheart." Dad says as she strolls sleepily over to him. She wraps her arms around his waist and he gives her a kiss on the forehead.

"Morning, Dad," she mutters groggily. "You're cooking?"

Another chuckle from dad. How is it he's so happy all the time? I swear he's putting it on because he thinks it'll rub off on me. Nope, sorry.

"Yeah, I'm cooking. You want some pancakes?"

She nods and walks over to the table to sit beside me. Don't get me wrong, I love Delia. She's like the only person I can tell things to because she won't give me advice. She sort of just listens. I can't talk to her about Mom, though. That makes her really upset, even though she thinks she's gotten over it. Yeah, Mom died in a car accident, in case I didn't tell you. So we're pretty close.

But, I think she's an idiot to be eating Dad's cooking. I have every intention of just meshing the pancakes and then throwing them away. Dad won't even notice.

"Do we have any maple syrup?" Delia asks after a minute of half dozing.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Down in the laundry room. Up on the top shelf."

She gets to her feet and starts for the stairs. I try to eat my pancakes.

"So, Ephram," Dad starts again. "You and Amy friends?"

I shrug.

"What do you think?"

Dad shrugs this time. " I don't know, you never really talk to me. I feel a little excluded from your life."

"You didn't seem to care when we lived in New York."

This creates a tension and there's silence for once. I do feel a bit guilty for saying that, but sometimes I speak without thinking.

"Dad!" comes Delia's voice from downstairs.

"What, hon?" Dad calls back, flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate and taking them over to the table.

"I think you should come look at this!"

"You can't find the syrup? It's there, honey. On the top -"

"No! It's not that!"

We both stop and look at each other. Dad presses on carefully.

"What's the matter?"

Delia comes up the stairs. Her pants are wet from the calf down.

"The washing machine's broke."

"What?"

I jump to my feet and race to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Oh no. Don't tell me I screwed up…

But, sure enough, at the bottom of the stairs I can already see the soap suds creeping across the floor.

"Damn it!" I mutter under my breath as I race through the sea of white towards the overflowing machine. The bubbles are so great that they're seeping out of the cracks in the door.

Dad's right behind me.

"Oh man!" He starts laughing. I turn on him.

"What's so funny?" I snap as I turn off the machine, trying to find my way around to the mop that _was_ against the wall before it was covered in suds.

"I know why you're doing laundry this early."

Great. First he's a doctor. Now he's a detective slash counselor, going to give me the father-son talk he neglected for the last five years.

Can school come any slower?

_finis_


End file.
